


Engage

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Comfort Sex, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Hurt/comfort if you look at it from the right angle, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Reunion Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8590588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: This time, Max comes limping back.





	

This time, Max comes limping back. A short journey had turned into a long one, too many skirmishes and too many people dead. He’s got a new scar on one arm, bruises faded to mottled brown and yellow by the time he reaches the Citadel. 

He’d been slowed down by circumstance, but then he’d got stuck. He’d kept telling himself that he was going back, then idled another day in the desert, supplies dwindling and car in increasing need of fixing. Sometimes the Citadel spooks him as much as the wasteland. Sometimes the fear of both keeps him from choosing either.

He’s down to his last ration by the time he makes it back. It’s all he can do to grunt at the lift worker who welcomes him up, trying not to shrink into himself at the noise and the people, rock walls and human bodies far too close for comfort.

It’s a relief to find Furiosa waiting for him at the top. When she steps in to touch foreheads, he thinks for a bad moment that he won’t be able to hold steady. When it comes, her touch is grounding, a relief after the clatter of the lift and the looks from the former wretched. 

What he really wants is to retreat to the darkest corner of her room, but some of his news is important. Once his car is safely stowed – not something he’s inclined to skimp over – and he’s washed, he makes it up to the green room. He gets through his list of major changes and possible warning signs to a group of Furiosa, Toast and Capable, who are used to deciphering his grunts and letting him wait long silences when he needs them. 

They eat while he’s talking, while he’s not talking: vegetable mash, fresh lizard rather than jerky, a handful of berries from the garden. As Max’s words run out, the girls start debating what he’s said so far – Toast dogmatic over one detail, Capable disagreeing. The noise is getting harder to deal with. Furiosa nudges him, nods to the others, leads the way out.

The Dag comes in just as they’re ready to leave. She hugs Max, all long limbs and enthusiasm, then gives Furiosa a lewd elbow to the ribs. 

In fact, they’re both quiet when they get to her room. He sits on the bench to take off his boots. She shuts and bars the door, takes off her arm before coming to sit beside him, not touching. A few breaths pass.

In the desert, he’d thought about coming back. He’d remembered other times he’d returned, when he and Furiosa had been so frantic for each other that they hadn’t been able to wait, fucking in dark corners on the way to her room. Or the time she’d taken him to bed and just enjoyed him, undressing him and touching him and making him go slow. His brain had produced dozens of memories and fantasies on his way back to her. None of them had featured sitting side by side in silence, half-hard and wanting and scared of consequences. 

There’s a touch on his hand, one of her fingers stroking lightly over his knuckles. As he turns to her, she gets up and climbs into his lap, kneeling astride him on the stone bench. He puts his arms tight around her, his face against her shoulder. 

They sit like that for several long moments. His breath steadies, the twitchy need to look for warning signs less urgent. After another moment, she plucks at his jacket, pushing it off so that she can hold him tighter, peels her own shirt off. He’s pressed against her, hands on her bare back. She shifts again, not pulling away but moving so she can wrap her legs around him. In the desert, he remembers the length and beauty of her legs, but he can still be surprised by how flexible she is, the unpredictable way she twists into different positions. With her legs gripping his waist, she’s seated more firmly in his lap. She is not light: her height, her long limbs, her powerful muscles add up to a solid, reassuring weight on his thighs. She is here. He is here. He burrows against her neck, feels her sigh and wriggle closer.

Max stands up and carries her to bed like that, still hooked around him. He can’t see where he’s going, but without thinking about it, he knows how many steps to take, knows the height of the bed. His muscle memory takes over, nothing clumsy in laying her down and curling into her. Their bodies work naturally together, even if his head is out of sync. Furiosa puts her hand to his jaw, tilts his chin up.

She kisses him as if she’s parched, her mouth thirsty. He can feel himself groan, tensions easing as he melts into it, into her. Her hand is on the nape of his neck, her legs still wrapped around him. He’s not sure quite when they start moving, murmuring and stroking and needy. She reaches down to undo her fastenings, to tug at his leathers. He kisses her hip as he works her clothes off.

When she spreads her legs for him, he grips her hip with one hand, using the other to open her for his mouth. He’s greedy and noisy, slurping into her. 

His cock is hard under him. He grinds a little against the sheets to ease the pressure, keeps sucking on her clit. When her hips buck, he growls, feeling her clench against his mouth. He wants to make her come again and again, to feel her respond to his lips and tongue and fingers, doesn’t care that his jaw is aching. He keeps going until she’s twitchy and trembling, sweat under his hand and little shivers running through her.

“It’s enough,” she says, tugging him up. She kisses his wet mouth, licks her own slick off his cheeks and chin. “It’s okay.” He kisses her again, one hand in her hair and the other tight around her. 

She pushes him to sit up, so she can get on top and still hold him. She shakes her head when he reaches for her clit, catches his hand to wrap it back around her waist.

“It’s okay,” she says again, smiles when he grips her tighter. She’s careful of the scar on his arm, but he leans into it when she touches one of his half-healed bruises. He likes the small discomfort of it, keeping him in the present. She bites at him, a soft scrape and nip that makes him shiver.

She doesn’t come again, but gives a little noise of satisfaction when he does, riding him through it, working her hips until the last. 

Once he’s done, he’s suddenly exhausted. It’s a different kind of tiredness, not so tense. He lets himself slump back, pulling her with him, his cock softening inside her. 

She snuggles closer, sweaty and warm, their bodies stuck together from top to toe. He’d love to sleep like this, with Furiosa sprawled over him, but he knows it’s a bad idea. He’s out of the habit of lying flat; adding another person’s weight on top of him, even hers, is asking for nightmares. He stays where he is, holds her a little longer. 

At last she slides off him, cuddling back against him when he mumbles. Propped on one elbow, she’s flushed and shiny, sweat beading on her face. She’s smiling, just enough to curve her lips and show where her dimples are. Max reaches up to touch one of them, watches it deepen as her smile widens.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
